Sufferance
by Lambent Flame
Summary: Sequel to Prohibition. Burns takes Smithers out for drinks to remind himself of the time they drank together during Prohibition and to learn about Smithers' romantic history. Will getting Smithers to come out of his shell allow Burns to come out of his?
1. Chapter 1

**Sufferance**

 _n. Patient endurance, especially of pain or distress._

 _n. Suffering; misery._

 _n. Sanction or permission implied or given by failure to prohibit; tacit consent; tolerance._

* * *

Aristotle Amadopolis stood by Burns' desk and said, "You should really try a new management style. It can do wonders for worker productivity."

"Oh? And just what would you propose I change?"

"You could have a game room and give them more breaks to use it."

"More breaks? I'm afraid your grasp of business is slipping, Ari."

"More breaks, but also longer hours. They are more willing to work hard for longer hours knowing they can spend some of that time playing games. At the Shelbyville plant, we now have virtual reality arcade games, including most recently Ms. Pacman."

"Ms. Pacman, you say?" Burns rubbed his chin. "Legal has been trying to persuade me to switch to releasing virtual hounds on employees during work hours. I couldn't retire my hounds, though. Chasing irritants and viciously tearing into them is what they live for. And I prefer to stick with tried and true methods. The VR headsets may still inflict pain, but nothing can replace the satisfying sound of teeth gnawing at flesh and bone."

"Virtual punishments are more effective than you may think. When my employees are caught slacking, they are put into the gladiator simulator and forced to confront virtual lions. At first I worried they would intentionally start slacking for the adrenaline rush, but the virtual pain receptor technology is remarkably effective."

"Any other 'innovative solutions' you care to proselytize about?"

"You could do as I have done, and start a program to pay for employees' continuing education."

"Oh, who cares? Half of my employees are barely literate, and things are just fine."

"Then what is that red light flashing for?" said Amadopolis, gesturing to a bright red light on the ceiling flashing.

"Warning. Situation critical."

"And what is that warning message for?"

"Oh, this again." Burns stood from his desk and opened the monitor screens along the wall. He pressed a button to activate the intercom system and said, "Stewart! Quit flapping your feathers and get on it!" Visible on the monitor, Stewart the duck startled and then scurried through a hall over a couple of different monitors, then reappeared at Homer Simpson's station, where Homer was sleeping in his chair. Stewart flapped his wings and jumped onto the console and pecked at a button. Homer woke up as the red light was replaced by a green light, then fell back asleep.

"See?" said Burns. "It's as I said, everything is fine."

"Whatever you say."

"Anyway, I've tried these management fads – fun hat days, plentiful tartar sauce, paid sick leave – but the benefits don't last. No, Ari, it's not in some trendy management style, but personnel. That's what makes the difference. Surround yourself with top-level talent willing to do your bidding, then fill the rest of the drone positions with the cheapest labor you can scrape off the sidewalk."

"I've taken a cue from you in that department. Meet Gary Mullins, my new assistant. Mullins!" At his call, a man in his early forties with black hair wearing a suit and tie walked into the room. "He'll do nearly anything for me. Mullins, get me my tea."

"Right away, sir," said Mullins, walking out again.

"Nearly anything, you say? I suppose that makes you the envy of most men."

"Don't try to tell me your... Smithers would do absolutely anything for you."

"That's where you're wrong, Ari, and I'll prove it." Smithers walked in with a tray of tea. "Ah, Smithers, I was just talking about what a loyal, faithful assistant you are."

"I aim to please."

"Good, then sort these invoices in alphabetical order." He handed Smithers a pile of invoices an inch thick.

"Right away, sir."

"And do it while riding this in circles around my office," he said, pulling out a unicycle. Smithers looked at him in confusion, but a glance at Burns and at Amadopolis and back at Burns clued him in.

"Of course," he said with a smile toward Amadopolis, but when he turned to face Burns again, he creased his brow in annoyance. He rode the unicycle around while sorting the invoices, then handed Burns the stack about a minute later. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Burns sipped from his tea. "No, I think I've proven my point."

"And what point was that?"

"That I have the most top-notch assistant in the business. Your Mullins can't possibly outmatch my Smithers."

Mullins strode in confidently with Amadopolis' tea. "Here you are, sir," he said, then startled when he turned his head toward Burns and spotted Smithers, spilling some of the tea. "Waylon?" said Mullins.

"Oh, uh, Gary..."

"You know each other?" said Amadopolis.

"We've met," said Mullins. "On a –"

"A party, at a party."

"Right."

Burns eyed Smithers suspiciously and said, "Since when did you attend a party without me?"

"Oh, it was awhile ago."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Amadopolis said, making his way to the door, "but I have to go shake the dew off some grape leaves."

Once he'd left, Mullins said, "Waylon, can I talk to you in the hall?" Smithers looked to Burns, who waved them away. They left the office and closed the door behind them. Unbeknownst to them, as soon as the door shut, Burns rushed to it and turned the doorknob gingerly to open it a crack without making an audible sound. He peered through the crack in the door.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here, Gary," said Smithers, wearing a goofy, affectionate smile.

Mullins wore a similar expression. "It wasn't that long ago. And we didn't meet at any party."

"I know, but I don't want to advertise my social life to my boss."

"Are you afraid he'll fire you?"

"No, no – actually, I'm always a little afraid he'll fire me, but not for that reason. I mean, I used to worry about it, but no, I know he doesn't have a problem with it."

"Good." Mullins kissed Smithers with a caress of his cheek. "Maybe we can meet up tonight."

Smithers' eyes lit up and he said, "See you at eight." As Smithers turned toward the door, Burns scuttled back to his chair just in time, grabbing a newspaper off his desk and acting nonchalant as Smithers walked back in.

"Oh, Smithers, you're back," he said, laying the paper flat over his desktop. "There's a documentary series playing at the local art theater about prohibition times at six. Care to join me for five hours of felonious fun?"

"Actually, sir, I have some plans tonight."

"Oh. I thought it would be fun to revisit prohibition times. Some of the best times of my life were had during prohibition... both times."

"I'll get my coat."

Amadopolis entered the office with Mullins close behind. "So, Burns, you still up for dinner tonight?"

"No, I have other plans."

Smithers turned to Mullins and said, "I'm sorry, Gary, we'll have to cancel our plans tonight. I'm running an important errand for Mr. Burns."

"You aren't running any errand! You said we're going to see the documentary tonight."

Smithers laughed nervously. "Right, of course. We'll have to leave soon if we want to be seated before it starts."

As they left, Burns posed smugly to Amadopolis and Mullins. "I told you he couldn't possibly top Smithers. I'm the only one allowed to top Smithers."

Mullins said under his breath, "So we've heard."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sufferance**

Around 11:30 that night, Smithers and Burns walked out into the theater lobby after the screening of Ken Burns' _Prohibition_. "Ah, I love watching documentary films of that era. It brings me back to the carefree days of my youth, purchasing intoxicating beverages from bootleggers and drinking at the Yale Club." Burns furtively looked back and forth, then clutched at Smithers' wrist and pulled him into a recessed area where there was a payphone. As Smithers opened his mouth to ask what was going on, Burns said, "Shh," and pulled out a flask from his jacket and took a swig. Smithers looked on in shock. Burns was not an alcoholic and was ordinarily content to wait until arriving back home or to an upscale bar to have a drink. He was so caught off guard that he failed to notice Burns tilting the flask toward him. "Well, do you want any or not?"

Smithers hastily took it in his hands and knocked back a gulp before handing it back. "That's good whiskey, sir."

"It's an eighteen-year-old Scotch," he said, swiftly taking it from Smithers and stuffing it back into his jacket.

"You have exquisite taste," said Smithers, relishing the taste of the spirit lingering on his tongue. "It's rich, dignified... like you."

Burns rolled his eyes. "Spare me."

"What possessed you to have a drink here? Why not wait until we get back to your limousine?"

"Because seeing that film reminded me how thrilling it is to flout conventional morals."

"You scofflaw," chided Smithers, his voice playful. "You didn't have to be so circumspect, you know. We're the only ones who even came to this screening. And they served us martinis during intermission."

"I wonder why no one else came. It's a wonderful film."

"Probably because they decided to stay home and watch it on Netflix."

"Smithers, I just had a marvelous idea. Let's say we go to a local tavern and revel in our flouting of the law there. For old times' sake."

Smithers hooked his arm around Burns' elbow, saying, "That sounds excellent, sir," and helped guide him down the steps of the theater toward the limousine. Once they were inside, Smithers said, "Where do you want to go?"

"Why don't we visit that speakeasy we visited when prohibition was reinstated?"

"Then that's where we're going." As Smithers drove them to Moe's, Burns gazed out his window upward at the sodium lamps bathing the streets in a sickly orange glow that Burns found as sweet as sunshine, knowing that the flow of electrons through those lamps from his turbines and nuclear fissioning meant money in the bank. He basked in the glow from the lamplight as well as the knowledge that Smithers would jump to cancel his date to sit and watch a five-hour documentary series with him.

They pulled in front of Moe's, and Smithers left to open Burns' door and guide him out, a hand on Burns' shoulder as they headed for the entrance. When they walked inside, Moe said, "Mr. Burns, Smithers! Why don't you two take the finest stools in the house? Hey, Barn, get off that stool!" He shooed Barney off the stool by the corner of the bar, and Barney grumbled as he walked to the other end of the bar where Homer, Lenny, and Carl were sitting. Smithers took out a pocket square and set it on the stool before Burns seated himself on it, and Smithers sat on the stool beside him. "So, what'll it be?"

Burns said, "I'll have a gin and tonic."

"Scotch for me," said Smithers.

As Moe prepared their drinks, he turned to Smithers and said, "So, what brings you to a joint like this? I haven't seen you two in here since I de-swishified the place."

Burns said, "We look back fondly on the nights we spent here when they brought back prohibition."

Smithers said, "We just watched a documentary about prohibition."

Burns said, "Yes, and thanks to an inept city clerk, you got to experience it first-hand."

"I love watching films from or about that time and imagining what you were doing then."

"I've already regaled you with tales of my romantic escapades during the twenties."

"You were a little short on details with at least one of them."

"I was not."

"You know the one I mean. In Berlin..."

"I told you more than you need to know about that one."

"You never even mentioned his name."

"Why, don't be ridiculous, of course I did." Moe handed them each a glass, and Burns took a swig of his gin and tonic. Under his breath, Burns said, "Ernst, are you happy now?"

"Hm?"

"All right, and Engelbert and Reinhold."

"Are you sure that's all?" said Smithers jokingly.

"Oh, fine! Theodore... Claude... Ollie, Percy, and Clarence. But that is only for you and me to know." Smithers couldn't suppress the grin as he thought of a twenty-something Burns indulging carnal delights with eight different men. "And wipe that stupid grin off your face. I know what you get up to after hours."

"Oh, sir... Please, tell me more."

"I told you, I've had my fill of telling you of my exploits." As Smithers pouted, Burns said, "Tell me about _your_ sexual conquests," and Smithers choked on and spit out the Scotch in his mouth.

"Jeez," said Moe, "I didn't water it down that much."

"M-m-my..." Smithers spluttered. "Moe, will you get me some water?" Moe poured him more watered-down Scotch, and Smithers gulped it fast. "Sexual conquests?"

"Yes, you know, flings, dalliances, affairs, liaisons, romantic entanglements. After all these years together, you've never mentioned any relationship."

"What? I was married!"

"Oh, yes, that. How could I ever forget the dazzling and enduring romance between you and what's-her-face?"

"Cheryl."

"And how long did that last? Six months?"

"Four years. Four very long years."

"You didn't care much for her, did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"Why did you marry her, then?"

"It was the thing normal guys did. I wanted so desperately to be normal."

"Normality is overrated. The normal man is a boorish ignoramus. Look at those dead-eyed troglodytes," he said, gesturing to Homer and his pals. " _They're_ normal men. I could befriend them no more than I could befriend a common tree slug. As I see it, you're normal in all the right ways, and abnormal in all the right ways."

"Thanks. I'm not insecure about that anymore. But it's nice to hear."

"You're still avoiding answering my question."

"No, I'm not." Burns' eyes bore into his with a stare that told him he wasn't even close to buying it. "Okay, I'll tell you about my first love."

"That's more like it."

"There was this girl named, um, Sally. When I started college..."

"Oh, please! Tell me the truth."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"Waylon, I know you have about as much interest in the opposite sex as I have in giving to charity. You may have done it a few times to keep up appearances, but I doubt you derived any enjoyment from it. Now, tell me, who was your first love?"

"I'd rather not talk about him."

"Now, I thought you were done with this shyness."

"No, it's not shyness. It's sadness."

"Then only tell me about the good times."

"He was so gorgeous that day we met, like a rock star or a movie star. He had dirty blond hair, a strong jaw, and a perfectly sculpted body. When he told me he felt the same way about me, I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. He was the first man I slept with, and the first man I was in a relationship with, and he helped me come to accept who I am."

"I think I know who you mean. Morris, right?" Smithers nodded. "Yes, I remember meeting him, your 'artist friend.' He was good for you." Seeing Smithers' eyes growing more somber, he said, "He was a real looker. I'll bet you enjoyed knocking boots with him."

Smithers blushed but smiled and nodded, eyes closed in reminiscence. "It was great. I learned just about everything I know about sex from my time with him."

"To Morris," said Burns, raising his glass for a toast.

"To Morris," said Smithers as they clinked their glasses and then sipped from them. Seeing his glass was empty, Smithers said, "Hey, Moe, how about another?"

"All right," said Burns, "but no more. I don't want you to get drunk and have to leave my limousine here overnight."

Moe said, "That ain't going to be a problem." He poured Smithers more Scotch. "I water this stuff down so much, he'd have to drink about a gallon to get tipsy."

"Really?" Burns raised his eyebrows in shock. "But the last time we were here, we got drunk off our asses."

"Yeah, well last time you was here, I was selling moonshine. And bathtub booze that ain't," he said, pointing to their drinks.

Burns looked into his glass then drank from it. "I'll have another, too." As Moe poured them their drinks, Burns turned to Smithers and said, "So, tell me about another man you've taken."

"Well, about a year and a half ago, I began a relationship with John. He's a few years younger than me, and he sells kitschy trinkets and memorabilia. We were together about six months. I just wasn't ready to commit to another man. Not him, anyway."

"Oh? Why not?"

"I was hung up on another man."

"Anyone I know?"

"Maybe," said Smithers with a sly wrinkling of his eye as he took a sip. "You know, I was nervous when you first asked me about my love life, but I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. For the last twenty-five years, I've kept this part of my life sealed off from you, and I never realized how empty and isolated I felt not being able to discuss this with you, my – my closest friend." He sipped his drink, never taking his eyes off Burns', then said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, my dear friend." Burns sipped his drink, then said, "Don't you have any other saucy tales to tell?"

"Oh, I could talk all day."

"Just how many men have you gone to bed with?"

"That's between me and the men I sleep with."

"Fine, you don't have to tell me." As Smithers took another sip, Burns said, "Just tell me whether you like to top or bottom."

Smithers spat out his drink. "Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf? Do you like to top or bottom?"

"Just where did you pick up that lingo?"

"Who are you, my mother? I am logged into the Interwebs, you know."

Smithers smiled, disarmed by his antiquated verbiage. "Okay. I like to switch. I usually prefer bottoming, though." Burns blushed. "You were the one who asked."

"No, I'm fine. I'm just not accustomed to seeing you in this light." He averted his eyes a moment, then looked straight at Smithers with a determined, almost seductive intensity. "Tell me one of your saucy stories."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, damn it, tell me!"

"After you told me I meant nothing to you, I started seeing a man I met at a party, Julio. It started as meaningless but very fun sex, but pretty soon we started to fall for each other. I was fed up with how you'd been treating me, so one night, long after you were in bed, we sneaked into your office and had champagne and sex on your desk."

Burns' jaw dropped open, his eyebrows contorted, shocked and appalled. Beads of sweat crept from Smithers' forehead as he questioned whether he should have said that. "Waylon..."

"I'm sorry, sir!" he said reflexively.

Burns scrunched his brows in severity, his cheeks hot. "Into the car. Now."

"Yes, sir," he said, slapping a tip on the bar counter and getting off the stool to scurry out the door. Once he swung the door open and the cool night air caressed his face, he said, "What have I done? How could I be so stupid? Of course he wouldn't want to know that!"

Burns spoke when directly behind him. "Waylon."

Smithers swiveled around, crouching to make himself smaller, assuming a begging posture. "Y-yes, Mr. Burns?"

"Is it true what you said? You had sex on my desk?"

"Uh, no, I was just joking. Ah ha..."

"Don't play games with me."

"Yes, it's true. But I only did it because you were treating me like crap. I don't mind bending over backwards to satisfy your whims, but I need a little human decency."

"So you really had sex on my desk? Where I sign checks, eat my lunch, rest my head before I've had my coffee?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Did you top or bottom?"

"I-I-I topped, sir."

"Waylon, I..."

"Please, don't finish. I know what you're going to say."

"I've never been so turned on in my life."

"What?"

"You bold, rebellious man. I never knew you had it in you."

"I'm a born rebel, sir."

"You must tell me more stories like this." He put his finger to Smithers' lips. "But not here. Take me home, Smithers."

"With pleasure, sir." Smithers kept quiet on the way to Burns Manor, afraid he'd say something to spoil the mood. When he parked the limousine in front and opened Burns' door for him, he put his arm around Burns' shoulder and guided him inside. "Do you want anything to drink? Brandy, wine...?"

"No, and no intoxicating beverages for you, either."

"Good. You're intoxicating enough for me."

"Save it. Follow me," he said, leading Smithers to a lounge with a fireplace in front of a settee. "Light the fire," he said as he sat down, and Smithers started the fire.

"We have some time before the fire really gets going. Want to share a blanket?" He held up a thick quilt that sat folded on the settee.

"Yes." They sat beside each other, and Smithers unfurled the quilt, then draped it over their laps. "So, you do have more of these delightful tales of debauchery?"

"I don't know, I'd like to hear more about Ernst, or Claude, or Theodore."

"So I had a few homosexual flings. What makes you think I have anything interesting to say about them?"

"You tell me. Did you top or bottom?"

"I bottomed. There, are you happy?"

"Yes," he said, a dreamy, distant look in his eyes. "Just imagining you having sex with those men turns me on like nothing else."

"You don't even know what they looked like."

"But I know what you look like, and what you looked like then."

Burns blushed. "Whom did you have the best sex with?"

"I'd say it's a tie between Morris and Julio."

"And who was the best at kissing you?"

"That would be you, sir." Smithers blushed.

"So you prefer the way I kiss to, say, Mullins?"

"Gary? You saw us?" Burns nodded. "There's no contest. You're better at kissing than you are at making money."

"I'm very good at making money."

"I know that. You're still better at kissing." He looked down for a second, thinking about their last drunken kiss, then back up at him. "Wait a minute, so you were spying on us?"

"It's my plant; it's my right to know what's going on in it."

"And how am I?"

"You are excellent at kissing."

"Am I the best?"

"Perhaps not the best. My memory is spotty about that night. I think I'll need a reminder." Burns slowly leaned in, and Smithers blinked, unable to convince himself of what was transpiring. "Don't just sit there staring; kiss me!" Smithers grinned wide for a second, then closed his mouth over Burns', stroking and squeezing his shoulders, then running his hand down Burns' spine. When their lips parted, Smithers dragged his down to Burns' chin and neck, sucking and licking. "I'm sure it won't surprise you that I still think about the time we got drunk and fooled around. You're even better than I remembered."

He said, muffled against Burns' neck, "I didn't think you'd remember it fondly after the way that night ended."

"I do look back on it fondly. Waylon, I..." He took Smithers' hands in his, and Smithers pulled his head back enough so they could look into each other's eyes. "I want you to understand. I was drunk and confused... I'd thought I was long past those feelings, or that if I could sweep them aside and pretend they didn't exist, I'd be free of them."

"But no, I know that doesn't work, because I tried that for decades."

"Yes, and that's why I wanted to open the topic for discussion. Because Waylon, I don't want to live this way anymore. I want to let myself love you. But before I do, I need to know whether you still feel for me as you professed to feel those months ago."

"Of course I still love you, I do and I always will," he said, capturing Burns in an embrace. They kissed, teasing each other's lips at first, then merging their mouths, hands groping for hips and shoulders and buttocks. Smithers trailed his lips along Burns' cheek and ear, and Burns squeezed Smithers' posterior. "Oh, Mr. Burns," moaned Smithers.

"Your tongue is in my ear; I think you can call me Monty."

"Oh, Monty!" He stroked the hair along the back of Burns' head, resting Burns' chin on his shoulder. "Oh, Monty..."

"I love you, Waylon." He kissed the back of Smithers' neck, a tear slipping out of each eye he clenched tightly shut. "I can finally love you."


End file.
